Among the samurai

in the vestibule that is increasingly getting dank as the rain refuses to let up, the local news is on tv that is hanging on to this minuscule bracket on the wall facing the security guard box. the guard is not there, only i and this woman wearing dark grey stockings in this weather. with unflagging resolve, she, the way a wet dog would, shakes her umbrella dry every time the ads come up. she does this almost like meditation or in the manner of a gospel singer, who in the throes of anointment, stays on this melody, riffs on it, until someone, the pastor perhaps, finally gets up to spew out an uninspired homily. when finally my cab comes, the driver opens his window and shouts some greeting at the guard who, it turns out, is smoking just meters away from the building in the safety of a generously cantilevered awning. the way the guard returns the greeting, it is so strange, so unfamiliar to me almost like a forgotten and abstruse social game of throwing fans for fun among the samurai.